


Sacrifices

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would Blair be smoking a cigarette?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  **Sacrifices by Alyjude**

 

Strange.

Door open.

Stranger still.

Backpack on the floor, jacket on the floor, "keys" on the floor... all the evidence said Sandburg was home...so?

Jim opened his hearing, trying to focus on a voice - that one voice... he filtered out the bickering Russell's down in 207, Kevin and Joe in 300 - um, maybe he'd listen there... yeah, they were getting it on... the lucky stiffs... Mancini in 212, yelling at his boxer, who had apparently eaten and promptly thrown up, an entire wing chair... he filtered out garbage disposals, toilets flushing... there - one word... damn"... Blair was on the roof? In February? Without his jacket? Something was wrong - very wrong.

Ellison turned on his heel and was taking the stairs three at a time when halfway up he stopped cold. Smoke. Cigarette smoke. Blair wasn't alone? But only one heartbeat. He was alone and smoking? Blair?

Jim stepped silently out onto the roof, eyes already fixed on his partner.

Blair was sitting on one of the lawn chairs, wearing a black pullover sweater and black jeans, his hair was loose and the February wind was having a ball, weaving in and out, sending curls flying in every direction... the picture would have breath-taking if not for the cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Jim walked up behind his younger partner, reached down, plucked the offending item out of the two fingers and flicked it out into space. Blair jumped up and whirled around to face the puzzled detective.

"Shit! Jim, scare a guy why don't you?"

Ellison stood there, not responding, waiting for an explanation, one arched eyebrow asking the question.

Blair stared back, his own eyebrow equally arched in a "so what" expression.

Jim crossed his arms over his chest.

Blair cocked his head.

Jim's right foot began a slow tap.

Blair's chin went up ever so slightly, and stubbornly.

Jim harrumphed.

Blair smiled his most winning smile.

Jim's foot began a faster tap - tap - tapping.

Blair's chin went defiantly higher.

"Blair?"

"Jim."

"Don't pretend, Sandburg."

Blair's shoulders slumped and the stubborn chin took a nose-dive.  "Okay, I was smoking. No big deal. No need to make a federal case out of it."

"Chief, you don't smoke."

"Weeeelllll...."

"You smoke?"

"Occasionally."

"You smoke occasionally? Blair, quick review here.  I'm a Sentinel, you remember, five heightened senses? I'd know if you smoked."

"I said occasionally."

"You've been living here almost two years.  Just how occasional is occasional?

"Well, I, like, need to be... um, frustrated."

Jim frowned. Frustrated? Sandburg was frustrated?  "Is it school?"

"No."

Hesitantly, "The station?"

"No."

Frightened, "Me? Is it working with me?"

"NO!"

"I'm not playing 21 questions here, Chief."

Blair shifted, twitched, shuffled. "Look, Jim, I'll deal with it. Not your concern."

"Wrong. My concern. My partner, my 'your body is your temple' partner, is smoking. This same partner who refuses to let me eat at Wonderburger more than once a month. The same partner who uses holistic medicine and herbal cures, who refuses to even use an aspirin unless he's been shot."

"Okay - Okay!"

"You don't even like second-hand smoke, what possible kind of frustration could induce you to smoke?"

Blair turned a remarkable shade of red - sort of a Christmasy red - then screwed up his face as if waiting for the axe to fall but peeked out of one scrunched up blue eye and managed to stammer out, "Uh, sort of... kind of... ah, sexual."

"Sexual? SEXUAL? Um, would that be like, a performance problem?"

"Christ, NO! I'm... well... not getting any." His gaze dropped to the ground in front him and one foot began toeing the roof gravel.

No way "Casanova Sandburg" wasn't getting any. No way. "Does 'not getting any' refer to by the minute, hourly or daily?"

"That's harsh, man. Not getting any means _not getting any!_ Okay?"

"Right, you're smoking because you're not having any sex. Ah, Blair, we don't actually _need_ a partner, if you know what I mean?"

"That's not cutting it anymore."

"Just how long has this been, uh, not going on?"

"Such a wit. I'm suffering here and you quip."

"Sorry. Is smoking one cigarette enough? I mean, you're okay now, right?"

"What time is it?"

"4:30"

"I'm fine... till 5:30."

Jim was now thoroughly confused. Standing before him was one of the most incredible looking men Jim had ever known, and he was smart, funny, sensitive, fun to be with, wise and yet, oddly enough, had a naive quality about him that was at odds with his experiences and his life, and he wasn't getting any? Had all the women in Cascade suddenly gone crazy?

"Blair, you can't keep smoking. That has to stop. Now. So, I propose an alternative."

"Hey, man, it's not like I _want_ to smoke but, well, it's the only thing that works."

"Other than sex?"

"Well, yeah, there is that."

"So, I propose sex... with me."

Rapid eye blinking followed by bouncing from one foot to the other, hands waving and finally he sputtered, "Uh, um... ahem... gosh, I mean...."

Then his head popped up, and he graced Jim with his most dazzling smile and said, "Okay, let's go."

360 degree turnaround. Completely.

"You're okay with this?" Jim was clearly taken aback.

"Yep. Come on, let's go, man."

"After you."

But once back in the loft both men froze in the middle of the room.  Bed? Which? Couch?

For Ellison, the nearness of his roommate, the heat flowing off his body in waves, the powerful scent of his need mixed with his own natural body scents were combining to drive Jim over the edge and making it to any bedroom or even the couch was about to become moot.

Suddenly Blair turned around but, as he hadn't realized Jim was so close behind him, he ran straight into the larger man and bounced off the solid chest. Jim reached out to a hand to steady Blair.

"You okay, Chief?"

"I'm fine. You're hard, but not hard enough to hurt me."

Sandburg turned a beet red as he realized what he'd said and how it must have sounded.

"Uh, Jim... oh, man... I didn't mean, oh, shit."

Jim burst out laughing. A large, open, free laugh that rolled out and brought an immediate smile to Blair's face. It wasn't often he heard this kind of laughter from the big detective.

But eventually the laughter died and the expression that was left was... well, passionate and yes, very aroused.

Time for the truth.

"Jim? I kinda... left something out up there on the roof? I mean...."

One mildly interested eyebrow was Ellison's only response. But Blair had to confess; get the truth out there on the table, in case Jim would want to take back his proposal. Blair took several steps back.

"What I didn't tell you was _why_ I'm not getting any and, well, it's like this -

you'rethereasoni'mnotgettinganybecausetheonlyoneiwantisyoubuti'veneverbeenwithamanbeforeandyou'redefinitelynotinterestedinmethatwaysoletsjustcallthewholethingoff."

Amazingly enough, Jim got the entire sentence; run together, said in all one breath and still he managed to get it.  "Let's not."

"What!"

"Let's not call the whole thing off." Slowly Jim Ellison began to advance on his partner, his tongue sneaking out, running gently over his bottom lip, his eyes now a deep smoky blue, his half-lidded gaze roaming up and down the body in front of him, lingering on one delicious spot, where an open collar allowed a peek at springy chest hair, then moving further down, to the enticing bulge in the tight black jeans.

Blair was staring, slack-jawed, his eyes round as saucers. "Jim?"

Jim continued his advance and Blair stopped, his gaze riveted on that tongue.

"Jim?"

"Can't have you smoking... not on my account... nope, simply can't have that... we'll just have to make this arrangement permanent... save you from yourself... save you from the nicotine devil... you can't afford to have your growth stunted any more..."

"That was low, Jim... uh, permanent?"

"Permanent. And Blair? This is low."

The Sentinel's arm shot out, hand snagging the top of Blair's jeans and then he pulled him in... and with one deft move, had the zipper down and jeans and shorts pushed down over hips....

"I see the occasional cigarette hasn't stunted everything!"

After that it was every man for himself as clothes went flying, mouths locked, limbs entwined and two bodies slid to the floor.  They couldn't last long. The heat, the friction, the long awaited need, the sheer joy of finally possessing what each had wanted, all combined to bring both men to a shattering climax.

Both men were sitting up, backs against the stair railing, still breathing hard, chests rising and falling, skins covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"You don't have a need to smoke after, do you?"

"No, but if ever great sex would call forth such an urge, this would have been it."

Two heads turned, gazing into sated blue orbs, matching smiles spreading across two faces.

"I can assume, then, that cigarettes are now a thing of the past?"

"Oh, yeah. But you have a very heavy responsibility, my friend. Are you up to it?"

"For you? I'll always be up for it. But you'd better move upstairs, don't you think?"

"Mmmm, yes, I see your point. Better move upstairs; closer to the cure, so to speak."

"Exactly."

The smiles broadened.

"Chief, just how often do you suppose I'll have to provide this cure?"

"Often, Jim, often. Gotta play it safe...regular basis and all."

A small bead of sweat was making its way down from Blair's temple and Jim reached up with one finger and gently caught the bit of moisture, his finger then continuing down to the strong jaw and over to trace around the lips of his dreams.  "Regular and forever, Blair. And I'm the only cure, right?"

"Regular, forever and the only possible cure, Jim."

 

They'd been lovers for three weeks. Three fantastic, ball-busting, spine tingling, sweat soaking, button popping, shirt ripping, do it anywhere, anytime weeks. And the surprise? Jim Ellison was still alive and he'd saved his partner from the deadly habit of "sexually frustrated, occasional smoking". How could a guy ask for more? And should a guy ask for more? Like a weird, kinky, very off the wall fantasy?

Well, shit. He was a cop. A Sentinel. Ex-military man. Big. Tough. 

Chicken.

Okay, he'd just... ask. No harm, no foul. Just ask. What could Blair say? No? Or maybe, just maybe? Yes?

So, the big, tough cop would ask the lover tonight.

Tonight was almost - scratch that - was over... it was 12:38 am. And the big, tough cop? Copped out. But before he'd copped out? He'd copped a feel while Blair was putting groceries away, and one copped feel had led to another and before you could say "Blair Jacob Sandburg" they were doing it on the floor - again.

Only this time he'd actually succeeded in getting them upstairs, finally. He was getting too old for the floor. If he was on the bottom? It killed his back. And if he was on top? Trying to protect his partner from his considerable bulk? It killed his knees.

Not that his partner needed his protection; he was one guy who could handle the Ellison "bulk", lusted after it, in fact.

Okay, he was rambling here. Because he was in bed, surrounded by paperwork that hadn't been finished, okay, hadn't been started because he'd copped a feel and?

Chickened out.

He looked over at Blair. Sound asleep. Partially on his side, face turned away, hair spread out, one arm dangling over the edge, sheet just resting on one hip, a curve.

Awkwardly, he reached over to grab his coffee mug, took a sip, looked back at that curve... back to the nightstand, back to the curve.

Umm? Why not?

So he tried it. He rested the mug on the delectable hip. Perfect fit. Close, handy, innocent feel copping every time he reached for the mug... oh, yeah, this works. Sandburg isn't the only genius in this family.

The body moved slightly, a groan emanating from deep within the chest.

"Jim? There's something on my hip."

"My coffee mug. And technically? It's resting on your left ass cheek."

"Okaaaay... now don't take this wrong, and I'm just making this up, right off the top of my head here, no deep, profound thought or anything, but I can think of better things for you to do with my ass."

"Well, now that you mention it, there is something I'd like to do."

"So move the cup and-"

"You'd better listen first; this involves a rather odd fantasy."

"Move the cup, Jim."

"Right." 

He quickly moved the mug over to the nightstand as Blair rolled over, rested his head on one hand and looked at his lover.

"Fantasy? You have a fantasy about me? About us?"

"Yes. And, well, it's weird."

"That's why their called fantasies, Jim."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"I'm all ears and anything else your big heart desires."

He took a deep breath.

"Iwanttopaintyourtoenails."

Blair wasn't a sentinel, but he knew his sentinel and he blushed from the roots of his naturally curly hair right down to the toenails in question.

"PAINT MY TOENAILS!"

"Told you it was weird."

"Is this because I have long hair and wear jewelry? Because I gotta tell ya-"

"It's a fantasy. Just a fantasy. Okay?"

"Why? I mean, did you do that with Carolyn?"

"Don't be silly. Barely kissed the woman, let alone painted her toenails."

"So where did this fantasy come from?"

"Saw it in a movie, thought it was a surprisingly sexy and masculine thing to do... dreamt about it the other night, painting yours... it was a real turn on...what can I say?"

"I saw that movie, Jim. Kevin Costner was painting SUSAN SARANDON'S NAILS! A woman, Jim, a woman."

"I realize that. Can't help it. Just think it'll feel sexy."

"We don't have fingernail polish, Jim, unless there's something about yourself you've never told me."

"Now you're being silly. And actually...."  He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a small, red bottle.

"RED! YOU BOUGHT BRIGHT RED!"

"I bought nail polish remover too, don't worry, it comes off."

"It had better."

"Does that mean you'll let me do it?"

"Hell. I must really be in love."

One hour later:

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

"So this is what painting my toenails does for you? I mean, you were terrific... that was mind-blowing... I won't walk for a week, but my god... I've never come like that... Jim Ellison, you are one wild man."

"You wanna paint mine next?


	2. Sacrifices - Addendum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toenail polish with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted as a separate story under the title "Addendum to Sacrifices". This isn't an addendum as much as it's a missing scene for Sacrifices. BG

Towel. He should get a towel. Don't want nail polish all over the bed. He handed off the bottle to a resigned Sandburg. "Here, hold this. I'll go down and grab a towel."

Jim could barely conceal his excitement and Blair found himself wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into when he'd moved upstairs. Of course, he was no stranger to fantasies; no stranger to the multitude of things his female partners had wanted to do to "him". Like Amy, who'd wanted to straighten his hair a la Fabio,or Julie who'd wanted to put it in a pageboy.  Or Kathy who'd wanted him to pierce his tongue and his--well, he'd finally settled on one nipple, or how about Susanne? She'd wanted him to grow a moustache and shave his head!

Come to think of it? Jim's little fantasy was actually, relatively harmless and certainly required no drastic body or hair change on his part.  No, Jim loved him, just the way he was. It was kinda sweet; weird, but sweet.  Now there was a word not generally used in conjunction with one James Joseph Ellison; sweet. And Blair Sandburg would _never_ say it to his face, but damn, the man was sweet; sweet in bed, sweet talking and very sweet tasting.

At that moment the "sweet" and very excited sentinel was running up the stairs, towel in hand. He plopped down with a "whoosh" and looked expectantly at Blair.

"What!"

"Well? How should I do this?"

"Jim, is there something about me that tells you I'd know what to do?"

"No, no, not at all, but, well, surely you've seen your women do this?"

"MY women? MY WOMEN!"

"Yes, Casanova, _your_ women."

"Okay, you'll need some cotton."

One quizzical eyebrow.

"To put between, um, my toes."

The other eyebrow went up.

"Use your head, Jim. Do you want to get nail polish all over my feet?" He wiggled his fingers and then his toes to prove his point.

"Aaaah, gotcha!"

Another run to the bathroom and he was back, triumphantly waving a box of cotton.

"Ya got base coat?"

The sentinel skidded to a dead stop, completely buffaloed.  "Base coat?"

"The stuff that goes "under" the nail polish. This shit stains, you know."

"Oh. Is there a substitute?"

"Jim, this isn't like using aloe gel instead of K-Y, okay? You can't just use, oh say, wood sealant instead of the proper base coat."

"You don't have to be snide. And no, I don't have any of this baseboard stuff."

" _Coat_. Base coat."

"Well, I don't have it." His face fell, defeated.

Blair rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay, go ahead, paint away. I'll live without a base coat."

"Yeah?"

"Paint, Jim."

Jim looked at the bottle, at the foot now waving in the air in front of his face and at the cotton, then pleadingly at Blair.

"Fuck." Blair grabbed the cotton box, pulled out a wad, tore it up and began to wedge it between his toes.

"Okay, they're all yours."

Smiling happily, Jim arranged himself so he could prop the bottle and the precious foot on his leg, both within convenient reach.

He then unscrewed the cap and pulled it out and began to move the brush toward Blair's big left toe.

"Globs, Jim, globs. Swipe the brush against the inside rim."

"Oh."

Jim swiped then hovered over the toe, eyebrow once again raised.

"Jeesh. Okay, one swipe down the middle of the nail, then one shorter swipe down the right side and then the left, okay?"

Jim did as he was told and when finished looked up with a bright smile.

"Good, Jim, good. Now the next, but the rest of the toes are smaller so just one swipe should do it."

Tongue pushing out the side of his mouth, the Sentinel set about the task and Blair's expression softened as he watched, his love visible in every line of his body, the very expression on his face.

Several minutes later and with a flourish, Jim finished the last nail. "Well?"

"Nice, Jim, very nice.  If this sentinel thing doesn't work out? You'll make a very sexy manicurist."

"So you'd recommend me to your friends?"

"Absolutely not. You belong to _me_."

Jim looked at his handiwork, then let his gaze run up the foot, the leg, up to the sturdy thigh, then back to those newly painted digits. "I gotta tell you, your toes? Very sexy." He proceeded to dump the towel, dump the polish and then started to slowly crawl up Blair's body.  "And your ass? Remember you said you knew of better things I could do with your very sexy ass?"

"Jim? Jim? Uh, I see this toe painting thing... uh, oh my... yes, well... that's good, yes... mmph...."

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.


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